


At the Feet of Blodreina

by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Gen, Harper McIntyre (Mentioned) - Freeform, Monty Green (mentioned) - Freeform, POV Clarke Griffin, Prompt Fill, Season/Series 05, Tumblr Prompt, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23440213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61
Summary: Octavia discovers that Madi is a natblida, and Clarke is the one to pay the price.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	At the Feet of Blodreina

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt by @heartlesslywhumping: The whumpee must act as a piece of furniture for the duration of a party.**
> 
> Oops, made Octavia the whumper again, but know that I love her. Also love Clarke. And Madi. Just love all the females.

Without food or water, what took place wasn’t much of a party, but Monty had gotten the speakers sent down by Diyoza to spread her message and rewired them to pick up the connection from an iPod Niylah had kept all these years. It was difficult. Monty had explained something to Clarke about AM and FM frequencies not working, so he’d done some stuff with long tubes of coiled copper, and gotten it to respond to the transmission of microwaves. And the iPod already had a setting on it that was called “bluetooth,” some ancient thing Clarke didn’t really know about, and he’d gotten it working.

Of all things, the fighting pit was where the party was being held, the music echoing slightly in the large space. Clarke could hold her head up and watch the people down below through the metal fencing, watch them dance, minge. She wondered if they were possibly even whispering uneasily. Their food and water was going to run out.

Eden had to be theirs.

But here Octavia was, solidifying her reign.

Madi was at her side, and Clarke was before the throne on all fours, hair sweaty, strands plastered to her forehead. Octavia’s booted feet were propped up on her back. The weight had been there for quite some time, making Clarke ache. It was a dull ache for the most part, but Octavia decided to shift her feet, heel digging into her spine.

Clarke cried out at the sharp stabs that went through her, and Madi tried to come forward.

“No, Madi, don’t.”

Octavia said something similar, except it wasn’t out of protection. It was an order. “Madi, _stay. Put._ ”

Clarke could see her if she twisted her head far enough, but at the moment, the pain in her spine was going up into her neck, making turning her head difficult. Still, she did it anyway, for her daughter.

“It’s okay, Madi. I’m fine.”

“Octavia, you don’t have to do this,” Madi argued.

“Oh, but I do.” Octavia’s voice was low, dark, something Clarke had never heard before Praimfaya. This wasn’t her friend. This was someone else, the Red Queen, Blodreina. And Blodreina was full of merciless ideas. “You understand what you did, Madi.”

“I didn’t do anything,” she said. 

Clarke nearly smiled at hearing her daughter’s voice wasn’t a whine. She was so strong. And Clarke had to continue being strong for her. Even though Octavia now purposefully slammed one of her heels down on her. Clarke’s body shook, but she stayed up. She might be in this humiliating position, but she wouldn’t let Octavia debase her further.

“You came to _my bunker_ , survived amongst _my people_ , and you betrayed me. You betrayed _them_ . A natblida is not welcome here. The time of the commanders has passed. But here you are. I know Clarke, so I know you. You came to usurp me, to _bow_ to Diyoza and the filthy prisoners that are on _our land!_ Do not deny it.”

“But—”

Clarke got out, “Do as she says.”

Madi paused, and then said nothing. Octavia surely had a grim smile on her face.

Clarke groaned as Octavia pressed her feet down.

“What’s the matter, Clarke? Not enjoying the party? After all, we _are_ celebrating my rule.”

“Your rule kept them alive in here, but it won’t out there. You know it. I know you do. You’re going to let all these people die?”

To Clarke’s surprise she didn’t receive retaliation.

Octavia responded, “Who said anything about dying?”

“So you have a plan?”

“I don’t speak to _slaves_ . Yes, Clarke, that’s what you are now. A slave, a footstool, a god damn table, if I say so. You’re whatever I want you to be. And it’s _all. Your. Fault._ Or you could blame Madi. She’s a _true_ natblida, unlike you. You’re just a pathetic experiment. There’s nothing _special_ about you.”

“Then why do you have me here like this, huh?”

Clarke twisted her head, trying to get her sweaty hair out of her face. She then held her head up, despite the knots and tension building in her neck. It hurt having it hang down for long periods of time too. She couldn’t win this. The only way to truly win this was to get through it. She glanced down below, and saw Monty and Harper huddled on the far side of the arena, arms linked, one of Monty’s hands over Harper’s. They watched Clarke, their eyes pained, and sad. Clarke gave them a reassuring smile, something to say, _I got this._

Blodreina answered, “You’re here because of Madi. Gaia saw fit that I do not punish a child, especially a natblida, and since humans are so scarce, I can’t help but agree. She can add strength to our numbers, and in years to come she can give Wonkru children. But she must be punished. And the way to punish her… _is to punish you._ ”

“You don’t have to punish _anyone_. Jus nou drein jus daun.”

“Don’t speak to me of blood.”

“Why not? There’s plenty on your hands. Four-hundred people, Octavia. Four-hundred, _dead_. How? Why?”

This time Octavia took her feet off Clarke, and then kicked her right in the stomach. She did it again, again. Clarke did fall this time, onto her side. She cried out as there was a _snap_ inside of her.

Blodreina stood now, seeming to stand so tall with all her armor and her cape and the dark makeup. “Eight-hundred still live. Don’t tell me that’s better than what you could’ve done.”

Clarke said nothing, realizing she… didn’t know. Oh god. What choices had been made? What atrocities had been committed? What deaths had happened so they could all be here, in the ruins of Polis and a filthy bunker, getting starved out by a mass murderer?

“If you want… their lives to matter…” Clarke started, and then she breathed in. It hurt so badly that a cry left her on her exhale. But then she took a shallow breath, continued, wheezed out, “You need to do… what you can… to save them.”

Octavia sat back down, and even now she put her feet on Clarke. Clarke screamed as one foot was rested against her broken rib. From her guess it was on the left, her floating rib just above the last one. She surely had bruised her fascia as well, since the impact had been strong enough to break a rib. Tears were in Clarke’s eyes now as there was agony in her side, just beneath Octavia’s heel. Her head swam, and she closed her eyes. Tears slid free. This was bad. This was _really_ bad. The fractured rib was surely threatening to rupture her spleen, or maybe even a kidney. But it didn’t feel like it’d gone that far. So spleen then.

“I’ve already saved them.”

Nausea built up in Clarke, and when she opened her eyes her vision was blurry. Octavia was holding Madi back.

“This is what she deserves,” Octavia said to her daughter. “Or do you want to be in her place?”

Madi remained silent.

Octavia: “Didn’t think so.”

“Octavia…” Clarke gasped. “You… can save them. But… not like this.”

“You know nothing. You _are_ nothing.”

For some reason Octavia’s voice quavered with the last sentence, and Clarke did her best to focus on her face. It was a mask, empty, her eyes hard and cold. Did Octavia think she herself was nothing? Clarke didn’t know. Pain was starting to take over, and she was shaking.

Fuck.

Octavia _finally_ took her feet off her, and Clarke gasped and coughed and cried out. The Red Queen rose to her feet, stepping over Clarke.

“Party’s over!” she declared. “Monty, kill the music. It’s irritating.”

As people began to disperse, a few more words came from the make-shift stereo: “ _I keep looking for something I can’t get_ / _Broken hearts_ —”

The music died. Clarke’s body throbbed. Madi was at her side now.

“It’s okay,” Clarke told her. “We’ll get through this.”

“How?”

“Together.” Clarke had one hand to her pained side, her own fingers somehow offering a modicum of comfort. With her other hand, she reached out and stroked Madi’s hair, the dark brown locks so achingly familiar to her. “Like always.”


End file.
